


So Be of Good Cheer (it's the most wonderful time of the year!)

by zjofierose



Series: zjo's winter holiday smorgasbord [14]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hanukkah, Holiday Sweaters, Holidays, M/M, Post-Canon, Swearing, Winter, communal living, paladin house, season 8 we don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22239082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Holidays: the time when family comes together to celebrate the year behind and observe the traditions handed down for generations, altogether, in one house, with too much booze and not enough space, anddammit Kosmo, leave the tree alone!Holidays with the paladins after the war.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: zjo's winter holiday smorgasbord [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531490
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	So Be of Good Cheer (it's the most wonderful time of the year!)

**Author's Note:**

> a very belated Sheith Secret Santa work for Loris - I hope you enjoy this silly thing, and that your holidays were great!
> 
> many thanks to lazulia, who helped me brainstorm all the many ways a voltron holiday could go wrong!

_ 25 days until Christmas _

It’s approximately 11:35 pm on November 30th when Shiro is awakened by a flare of light so bright he thinks for a heart-stopping second that the Galra have returned. He leaps out of bed, feet in his slippers before he comes to himself and remembers that the war’s been over for a solid year now, and that he’s at home, in his own bed, and safe, and-

“What the ever-loving  _ shit _ is that?” Keith groans from the bed, and Shiro can’t help but smile at Keith’s ridiculous bedhead even as his heartbeat struggles to return to normal, the remaining adrenaline in his system making him feel faintly nauseous. 

Shiro has a sneaking suspicion of what, exactly, the piercing light was, one that’s getting more credibility all the time on account of the steadily increasing amount of banging coming from the roof.

“I’ll just go find out, shall I?” he asks, his voice deadly calm, and Keith snorts, pulling the pillow over his head.

“Go get ‘em, babe. Holler if you need a hand hiding the bodies.”

Shiro bends and presses a quick kiss to Keith’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t call anyone else,” he answers, and slips on his bathrobe before heading into the hallway and downstairs. 

\--

What Shiro finds outside is precisely what he feared: Hunk standing at the base of a ladder with a generator and a guilty look, while two oblivious wild-haired figures scurry around the roofline. 

“Um, hey Shiro,” Hunk says, and Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Um. Matt and Pidge wanted to, um, test their Christmas lights display?”

“Yes,” Shiro comments blandly, “I noticed. When turning it on made enough light to pull me from a dead sleep because I thought the world was ending.”

Hunk winces. “I think they got excited because they’ve never had this much acreage to work with before. I did make sure to check the flash point of the roofing materials before I helped them find the ladder, for what it’s worth?”

Shiro nods contemplatively. The former Holt house was a reasonably-sized house for a family of four, and decorating it for the holidays was Matt and Pidge’s annual project. They’d start drawing up plans in August, drafting designs in September, testing power sources in October, and the whole thing would go live the day after Thanksgiving. Getting them to agree to wait until December 1st this year had been a major concession on their part, and Shiro had been so focused on getting them to agree that he’d failed to consider what the expanded canvas of the paladins-and-extended-family compound might do to their eager minds.

“Matthew and Katherine Holt,” he shouts, using his command voice. There’s a sudden silence from above, then a hurried scuffling as two sandy heads pop over the eaves.

“Shiro!” Matt’s voice is all cheer. Shiro knows that tone - Matt’s going to try to bluff his way out of this one. He represses a sigh. It had been warm in his bed, and soft. “What do you think of Phase One of our Holt House Holiday Extravaganza?”

Shiro pins him with a look, and lets the silence stretch. “Phase  _ One _ ?” he asks, against his better judgment.

“Yeah!” Pidge leaps up and begins gesturing, and there’s a heart-stopping moment before Matt grabs at the back of her hoodie. Pidge continues, oblivious. “This is just the roof lighting. We’ll do the lighting on the side of the buildings next, that’s Phase Two. Then the moving yard sculptures, that’s Phase Three, and then-”

“Pidge!” Shiro holds up a hand to protect his eyes from the glare. “You’re planning on  _ more _ lights?”

“Well, yeah.” Pidge rolls her eyes. “You didn’t think we’d only do the roof, did you? Come on, Shiro.”

“Nope. You’re limited to what you can do with  _ one _ generator,” Shiro says.

“But-”

“One generator with no additional modifications.”

“ _ Shiro _ ,” Matt’s voice is horrified, “how will we make the place stand out against the neighbors’?”

“Consider it a challenge for your talented minds,” Shiro tells them, “and forget about the moving statues. You know how Kolivan gets.”

“...shit. Good point.”

Shiro claps Hunk on the shoulder. “Come get me if they start coloring outside the lines again,” he says, and Hunk nods swiftly. 

“Will do, Shiro. Sorry to wake you!”

Shiro tosses a casual salute, and makes sure to “trip” over the power cord for the generator as he heads back in. Blessed darkness descends upon the house again as he stumbles back upstairs.

\--

_ 19 Days Until Christmas _

The first week of December is long and busy. Not that it’s really ever  _ stopped _ being busy since the end of the war; reconstruction efforts are well underway, but it’ll be a decade at least before Earth is at all recovered, really. Still, there are times that are busier than others, and the month of December is one of them as everyone tries to push things off their own desks and onto someone else’s in preparation for the holidays. 

Shiro’s up every weekday at 4:45, Keith half-asleep at his side as they go for a morning run in the desert. By the time they get back, the rest of the Paladins are working their way through various stages of alertness while Romelle and Coran cook breakfast for the masses. After breakfast, it’s a bustle of showers and uniforms and then piling into the Garrison van that Commander Holt commandeered when they all moved out here and making the twenty-minute drive into Garrison headquarters.

Shiro’d thought Keith was crazy when he’d proposed it, all of them in one giant multi-winged house together, but everyone had come on board almost immediately. Lance and Veronica had grown up with extended family coming and going and living above and below and beside them and thus needed no convincing; Hunk had grown up less that way, but still much more so than Keith or Shiro had. Krolia had just shrugged and said that it was normal for Blades to live together in large social groups, Kolivan nodding behind her, and the Alteans had all expressed some form or another of loneliness at the thought of not being with the rest of the Paladins. That had really just left the senior Holts as the last hold-out, and once promised their own wing, they’d been happy to sign on. 

A year in, and it’s chaotic at the best of times, but there’s really something to be said, Shiro feels, for the immediacy of having his friends - his  _ family _ \- close at hand. When he can’t sleep at night, Coran or Romelle or Pidge are always around to make small talk. If he wants to spar but Keith isn’t available, Krolia or Kolivan or Allura are there to take him down a peg or two. If something goes wonky with his arm, Hunk and Matt and Commander Holt can take a look right away. If it’s a day that’s harder to slog through than most, Lance’s cheerful nonsense can keep the mood from getting too morose.

And Keith… Keith revels in it, so clearly delights in being surrounded by all the people he cherishes, and the joy of him being happy is enough to make Shiro put up with even the worst of the crazy that they now live in the midst of.

He loves it, Shiro reminds himself at 6:32 that Saturday when he’s awoken by a fat mouse scampering across his face in terror. He loves it, and Keith loves it, and- 

“Lance, what are you doing?”

Keith’s voice is far more awake than it has any right to be, and Shiro smiles, settling back into his pillow and deciding that Keith can handle this one while he himself goes back to sleep. 

His plan is thwarted by two things: first, the fact that when he turns his head, he rolls it right onto Platt, who squeaks in protest and wriggles, shoving his tail directly up Shiro’s nose; and secondly that Keith’s question apparently startles Lance into falling from his position on a ladder above their bed down and directly  _ into _ their bed.

“Hanging mistletoe!” Lance chirps, waving the offending garland around vigorously. “Hey, um, are you guys decent under there?”

Keith glares. “If you don’t get off our bed and out of our room in under five seconds, you’re going to find out.”

“Lance,” Shiro asks, because he’s too sleepy to think better of it, “why are you hanging mistletoe above our bed at 6:30 in the morning?”

“The holiday spirit!!” Lance crows, brandishing the mistletoe like it’s some sort of bayard. “You two idiots need it more than anyone,” he declares, right as Allura appears in the open doorway.

“Oh, good morning Shiro, Keith,” she says distractedly, “have you seen Platt anywhere? He’s run off.”

“Lance,” Keith says, sitting up and displaying his bare chest aggressively enough that Lance hops backward off the bed, still brandishing the mistletoe. “You know that stuff is for kissing, right? Do you need me to tell you how much kissing  _ we already do _ in here?”

“Ack!!” Lance shoves his fingers in his ears, bumping into Allura as he dives for the door. “Okay, okay, I’m going, I’m going!”

“Here you go, Allura,” Shiro says, lifting Platt by the tail. The chubby mouse gives him a look of utter betrayal.

“Oh, thank you,” she gushes, catching him in her hands and tapping him reprovingly on the head. “I’m rehearsing them for the live nativity scene, and he keeps running off!”

“I can’t imagine why,” Shiro tells her, “mind shutting the door on the way out?”

“Not at all! Happy Saturday!” 

The door closes behind her and Keith flops back on the bed with a groan. “ _ Mistletoe _ ,” he grumbles, and Shiro strokes his hair. 

“I just want to sleep past seven,” Shiro says wistfully, and Keith sighs. “Just one day in December. Is that too much to ask?”

“Probably,” Keith answers flatly, and Shiro closes his eyes. 

“ _ Shh _ .” Shiro gropes around until he finds Keith, dragging him over to his side. “Shhh, it’s still dark out. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.”

Keith snorts. “Maybe. Hey Shiro, I…” He trails off, and Shiro cracks open an eye.

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.” Keith yanks the covers up over his head and burrows in. “Go back to sleep.”

\---

_ 17 Days Until Christmas _

“You know,” Shiro says, standing outside, “I think the lights look great now that you’ve scaled them back a bit.”

“ _ Hmph _ .” Matt folds his arms and scowls. “I guess if you’re into  _ basic _ decoration, they’re not bad.”

Shiro claps an arm around his shoulders and heads inside. “That’s the spirit.”

“Shiro,” Krolia says as they enter, her large purple eyes settling on them, “have you ever celebrated Hanukkah?”

“Um,” Shiro says, kicking off his shoes. “No? I’m not Jewish. Why do you ask?”

Keith looks up from the stack of presents he’s wrapping at the massive dining room table. There’s a stray piece of ribbon caught in his hair, and Shiro wants to kiss him. 

“Dad was Jewish. Or,” he frowns, “he’d have said he was Jew ‘ish’ - I don’t think his family was ever really especially religious. But he still did some of the cultural stuff.”

“I liked the candle holiday,” Krolia says musingly. “Very bright. Very cheerful.”

“I’m sure we could find out when it starts, if you want.” Shiro says, shrugging. “And someone who knows the prayers. Baby, are you… rewrapping those?”

Keith freezes, a guilty look on his face. “Oh. Um. Were they… done?”

“Yeah,” Shiro squints. “Yeah, generally when a present is covered in paper and has a bow on it, it’s considered finished.”

“Well, it’s just… they weren’t… very good.” Keith looks at his hands, then at the pile of presents on the chair next to him, and squirms as Shiro stares. 

“Oh my god,” Shiro says, voice incredulous, “how have I known you this long, and still had no idea that you’re a wrapping perfectionist?”

“What was the game that went with the candles, Keith?” Krolia asks, finger on her lips as she thinks. “With the spinning?”

“What are we spinning?” Kolivan appears out of nowhere, as is his wont, and begins to inspect Keith’s wrapping work. “Nicely done, Paladin Kogane. Very sharp edges.”

“A dreidel,” Keith answers, carefully slicing open another of Shiro’s previously wrapped packages and removing the paper so he can trim the size down and flatten it. “That’s what you’re supposed to spin. It’s like a top, with symbols on the sides.”

“Hm, never heard of it.” Kolivan shakes his head. “No matter, we can spin knives instead. A game, you say?”

“Yes!” Krolia nods, “a most entertaining one. For coins. Shiro, can you ask Veronica to procure us many candles and many coins?”

Shiro covers his eyes with his hand and takes a breath. “Sure thing. I’ll do it later today.”

“Oh, hey Shiro?” Keith looks up from where he’s using his knife to carefully curl a section of ribbon to add to the color-coordinated ribbon bouquet he’s situating on top of his current box. “Your moms texted me - they’re coming for a week starting on the nineteenth, and they’re bringing your grandparents.”

“Oh!” Krolia claps her hands. “That’s wonderful news! I had such a good time with Alice and Misato last time they came!” She beams. “I bet they’ll spin knives with us, too! Come on, Kolivan, we’d better tell Coran so he can help us clean out the weapons room for Shiro’s grandparents.”

Shiro represses the sudden urge to yeet himself into the desert for the next thirty days and smiles instead. “Thanks, Keith. Tell them we’ll be glad to see them.”

\---

_ 15 Days Until Christmas _

“Wait, wait, wait,” Coran says. “So, there’s an old fat man, and he dresses in historic imperial costume, associates with magical animals, and redistributes wealth?”

“Yeah!” Lance waves his hands madly, “and he comes down your chimney on Christmas Eve.”

“He’s also a moral authority,” Pidge pipes up, “he surveils children throughout the year, and rewards or punishes according to his own obscure criteria.”

Allura frowns in the midst of braiding her long white hair. Someone has given her one of those Santa hats with the elf ears, which Shiro quietly finds hysterical, because what even is the point if Alteans already  _ have _ elf ears?. “What if you don’t have a chimney?”

“Eh,” Matt shrugs, “Santa’s magic. He finds a way.”

“Stockings, though,” Romelle’s voice is concerned. “We,” she gestures at Allura, Coran, and herself, “don’t have any. How will Santa leave us presents?”

“Well,” Colleen Holt starts, but is interrupted by a tremendous crash from the living room. Kosmo comes streaking into the den, dragging a garland of tinsel before poofing out of existence just as Keith appears in the doorway.

“ _ Kosmo _ ,” Keith shouts, just in time to see the end of the electric blue flickering around the space where the wolf used to be. He shoves his fingers into his hair and groans. “I swear to god, I thought  _ cats _ were supposed to be the animal with Christmas tree problems.”

“He’s confused, sweetheart,” Shiro says reasonably. “The entire rest of the year, any ball or stick or toy in the house is his for the taking. But now there are all these fragile balls and toys and he’s not allowed to touch any of them or he gets shouted at.”

“He’s already eaten three of the ornaments, and now he’s stolen half the tinsel,” Keith sighs, and Shiro has to struggle not to laugh at the put-upon expression on Keith’s face. “I just  _ know _ I’m going to spend the next three days picking up glittery dog shit in the backyard.”

Romelle claps her hands together in delight. “How festive!” she chirps, and Shiro has to bury his face in his hands as he snickers so Keith doesn’t punch him.

\---

_ 12 days until Christmas (1st night of Hanukkah) _

“I’ve been doing some research,” Coran declares, striding into the kitchen as the Holts work on dinner and brandishing a book with a flourish, “and it seems that a substance called ‘snow’ is a very important element of a proper Christmas celebration.”

“Oh yes,” Commander Holt’s voice is fond. “We had white Christmases when I was a boy; very nice! Always puts me right in the spirit.”

“What is this ‘snow’?” Kolivan asks consideringly from the end of the kitchen island where he’s peeling potatoes with the edge of his knife. “And how does one procure it?”

“Look,” there’s a soft touch at Shiro’s elbow, and he turns his head to find Romelle standing next to him, a bundle of yarn in her hands. “Colleen is teaching me how to crochet! I’m going to make stockings!”

“Ah!” Coran flips pages with delight. “It’s a crystalized form of water which falls from the sky! It is,” he turns a page, “white in appearance, though it can come in many consistencies, including ‘wet’ or ‘powdery’.”

“Oh, that’s nice, Romelle,” Shiro eyes the peach and turquoise yarns in her hand with faint suspicion. “I’m sure they’ll be lovely.”

“That’s right,” Colleen agrees, pouring dressing over a trencher of salad. The grocery bill for the Paladin compound is one of the largest weekly expenses that Shiro has to approve, but given the backpay that they’ve all accumulated while off-planet, not to mention his and Sam and Matt Holt’s life insurance policies, he’s not concerned. “You don’t get snow much here; it’s too warm and too dry.”

“Snow?” Hunk asks, rounding the corner into the kitchen, “is it supposed to snow?”

“No,” Shiro tells him, “Coran was just reading up on Christmas traditions.”

“This one says that not only is it used for winter sports, but that it’s also traditional to use it to construct statues of seasonal personages!” Coran beams, pointing at an illustration. “Apparently there are customary songs one sings to reanimate the snow-golem!”

“Oh yeah,” Hunk nods thoughtfully, “you know, I’ve never seen snow either.” He shudders. “Seems too cold, though. I think I’m okay without it.”

Kolivan hums from the end of the island again, stabbing a peeled potato on the end of his knife and taking a bite. “I feel that we should experience the full range of holiday traditions which are implicit in the experience of these rites,” he comments, and Coran nods in vigorous agreement.

“Well,” Shiro sidles up to the counter, filching a bread roll when neither of the Holts are looking. “There’s snow in the mountains a couple hours away. Maybe we can go for New Year’s.”

“Yes!” Coran cheers, and Shiro munches at his illicit roll, watching as Krolia saunters into the room and slides up to peer over Colleen Holt’s shoulder. The two alternate between disagreeing vehemently and praising each other outlandishly, but neither seem to affect or distract from their deep and abiding mutual respect. 

“Come on,” Krolia says, hooking a finger in the back of Colleen’s belt loops, “all of you. It’s time to light the first candle!”

\---

_ 11 Days until Christmas (2nd night of Hanukkah) _

“What the actual fuck.”

Shiro awakes to the dulcet tones of Keith in utter dismay, and rolls over, blinking until the view of Keith staring out the window in horror comes into full resolution. Shiro rubs at his eyes and stares at the clock. It seems awfully bright out for the somewhat ungodly hour

“Keith, hon? It’s 6:15. What’s going on?”

Keith just points wordlessly out the window, face gone slack. 

That in and of itself is alarming enough that Shiro swings himself out from under the covers, and the first thing he notices is that it’s cold, colder than it has been the past few mornings, at least. He puts his feet to the floor and is in the process of padding over to where Keith stands when there’s a sudden scream and a muffled thump.

Shiro runs, peering out the window over Keith’s shoulder, and the first thing that greets his eyes is a blinding expanse of white.

“What,” he starts, and then registers the figure flailing on the steps to the main entry. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , they’ve gone and killed Iverson.”

“No, no,” Keith pats vaguely at his arm, unable to tear his eyes from the blanket of white that’s covering the entirety of the compound and about half a mile in every direction before fading into desert sand again. “Look, he’s moving all his limbs, he’s fine.”

They watch in concert as the front door bangs open and Krolia and Kolivan step out. 

“Amazing,” Kolivan mutters, bending to get a hand under Iverson’s elbow. “We must return to this once we have settled our friend here.”

“Up you get,” Krolia says to Iverson, and they heft him easily upright, guiding him up the steps and into the house.

Shiro turns to Keith. “Holts,” he says, and Keith nods resignedly. 

“Pretend we didn’t see anything?” Keith asks hopefully, and Shiro just nods, wrapping an arm around Keith’s shoulders and guiding him back to bed.

\---

By the time they venture downstairs to the main room around nine, Veronica, Iverson, and Allura are all parked around the fireplace with various body parts wrapped and elevated. Veronica looks incredibly pissed, Iverson resigned, but Allura is pink-cheeked and elated in spite of the pressure bandage wrapped around her wrist. 

“I made a snowball!” she enthuses as they enter the room, “and Lance is going to teach me how to build an igloo!”

“ _ Lance _ knows how to make an  _ igloo _ ?” Shiro’s not sure if Keith’s more amused or outraged at the very blatant lie, but he’s distracted from the question by the two colorful shapes hanging from the mantelpiece. The first is a tube the length of his arm of alternating pink and orange stripes, while the second, in shades of mint and peach, does seem to have a heel but also seems to have at least seven toes. 

“The first one is for Pidge, according to Romelle,” Matt comments from beside him, “the second is Lance’s.”

“I hadn’t realized Lance was polydactyl,” Shiro answers, and Matt snorts into his coffee.

\--

“So then the reindeer throw off their harnesses, and lead the snow fairies in the dance of the Nutcracker,” Coran is saying as Shiro walks into the room. Allura and Romelle are sitting rapt with wonder at his feet as Krolia and Kolivan sharpen their knives on the floor. 

“I don’t remember that part,” Shiro mutters, and Hunk cocks his head where he leans against the wall. 

“I don’t either,” he muses, “but we didn’t really celebrate Christmas much. Maybe I just missed this part of the story.”

\--

“What day is your family coming?” Keith asks as they watch Krolia light the menorah that evening. The candles flicker in the glass of the living room windows, casting shadows over the army of misshapen snowpeople that stand guard outside the compound. Matt and Pidge had managed to stop the snow by the time it reached a foot and a half, and some dedicated work with a shovel and a heat lamp by Lance and Sam Holt had made the stairs and walkway passable again. It was a little more adventure than Shiro had really hoped for on a Sunday in mid-December, but, he thinks, it could have been worse. At least the temperature bubble the Holts and Hunk had constructed stayed at a constant two-degrees-below-freezing, just enough to preserve the snow without it being enough to really make them all suffer. 

Small blessings, he tells himself. 

“On Friday,” he answers, and Keith leans against him. “We’ve still got all week to prepare.”

“Thank god,” Keith whispers fervently, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love your moms, but your grandparents…” 

Shiro just sighs. “I know, baby, I know.”

Across the room, Krolia blows out the lighting candle with a flourish and turns to Kolivan. “And now,” she declares, “the spinning of the knives!”

\--

_ 6 Days until Christmas (7th night of Hanukkah) _

“Mama!” Shiro wraps his arms around his little mother, lifting her off her feet as she shrieks with delight. “Come in! You remember Krolia and Kolivan and Coran?” he gestures around as he ushers her in the door. 

“Of course!” she beams. “Krolia and I follow each other on all the social media.”

Shiro feels a frisson of fear shiver down his spine at the comment, but he’s distracted by his second mother tapping him on the shoulder. “What,” she says, pouting, “no hug for me?”

“Mom,” Shiro grins, wrapping his arms around her, “Merry Christmas. Come on in.”

She waves him off fondly, reaching behind her to help her parents up the steps. “Yeah, yeah. Here, say hi to your Memaw and Papaw, and then take them to where they’re going to be staying.”

“Welcome to our home,” Shiro says, bending to kiss his grandmother on both cheeks, and then to let his grandfather affectionately ruffle his hair. “Here, let me take your things.”

“I can help, Shiro,” Keith says, appearing out of nowhere at his side. He holds a hand out. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Trumble.”

Shiro’s grandmother promptly sneezes viciously, and Keith withdraws his hand, looking confused. “Ah,” Shiro says, blinking. “Keith, why don’t you help the moms with luggage, and I’ll get these two settled?”

“Okay,” Keith agrees easily, but Shiro can see the unease in Keith’s face as his grandmother sneezes again. 

Shiro leaves Keith in his mothers’ capable and comfortable hands and holds out an arm for his grandmother to take. “Here,” he says, “I’ll show you to your room and then you can get settled in.” He guides them across the living room in the direction of the guest wing. 

“Oh,” his grandfather comments as they pass the fireplace. “Aren’t those original?” Shiro glances over, his eyes widening as he takes in the latest additions to the wall of stockings. Colleen has apparently been doing the older folks’, because there are perfectly executed knit stockings in a deep blue, a deep lavender, and a lovely royal purple, each with an initial stitched carefully in the middle. 

Interspersed with these, however, are four stockings of diverse sizes, shapes, and colors- the first two he recognizes from days ago, but the latest pair are a dark red with yellow polka dots and a royal blue with what looks like a lime-green plaid pattern. Shiro blinks. 

“Hmph,” he hears his grandmother sniff. “Well. It’s a good thing I came when I did! Christmas is only six days away - I’m sure there’s still so much to be done!” She pats his hand reassuringly, and it’s all Shiro can do not to squirm like a guilty child. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure everything comes out right.”

“Oh, Memaw,” Shiro says, cringing internally as he sets their luggage down just inside the room. “This is a holiday! You’re supposed to be relaxing. I’m sure we’ve got everything covered.”

“Nonsense!” She hefts her suitcase onto the bed and unzips it, rummaging until she pulls out a familiar wad of fabric, shaking it out determinedly and holding it up so he can see. “I brought my Christmas apron and everything. We’ll get this holiday celebration straightened out yet!”

\--

_ 5 days until Christmas (8th night of Hanukkah) _

“ _ Mom _ ,” Keith’s voice is the driest Shiro[‘s ever heard it, flat and waterless like Mars, and he bites his lip. He wants to intervene, but he knows better than to get in the middle of a debate between Krolia and her son. “How many candles did you light.”

Krolia gestures exuberantly, flinging her arms wide with enthusiasm that makes ash dance from her shirt. “ _ Lots _ !” she declares, and Kolivan beams behind her, his braid singed. 

“We lit the most candles. Truly, Hanukkah is an exceptional feast.”

“ _ Mom _ ,” Keith cradles his face in his hands, and Shiro watches as Hunk and Sam Holt finish spraying the remains of the drapes with fire extinguishers. “You set the entire front of the house on  _ fire _ .”

“Tch,” Krolia pats at Keith’s shoulder condescendingly. “Your building is concrete, and there is a very advanced sprinkler system. You worry too much.”

Keith grits his teeth, and Shiro steps carefully backward. Clearly this is a disagreement best worked out between close family, without the presence of hangers-on or interlopers like himself. He inches toward the stairs. 

“ _ Mom _ ,” he hears Keith hiss as Shiro rounds the corner into the hallway. “ _ The drapes are still smoldering. _ ”

\---

_ 3 days until Christmas _

“ _ Shiro _ ,” Colleen Holt grabs his arm as he steps out of the kitchen, “if your grandmother pushes me out of the way in my own damn kitchen  _ one more time _ , I swear I’m going to-”

Shiro pops a cookie in her open mouth, watches her splutter for a second, then melt as the taste hits her tongue. 

“By all the  _ gods _ ,” she moans, licking her lips once she’s swallowed. “What is  _ that _ ?”

“Memaw’s holiday shortbread,” Shiro tells her, holding out another on the palm of his hand. “Also known as the reason we all put up with Memaw’s dictatorial streak toward Christmas. The cookies are worth it.”

“That woman rehung every piece of greenery in the dining room  _ twice _ ,” Colleen hisses, snatching the cookie from his hand. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Shiro just smiles. “There’s more where that came from,” he tells her. “Give her unfettered access to the kitchen, and it’ll be worth your while.”

Colleen bites into the second shortbread, her eyes considering. “If I let her have free reign of the kitchen, will she stay there?”

“...mostly?” Shiro hedges. “It  _ is _ her favorite part. The baking.”

“Shiro!” comes a shout from behind him, and Shiro winces. “When are we taking the holiday photos?”

“The what?” Colleen asks, and Shiro shoves another shortbread into her hands, patting her on the shoulder and running silently for the door.

“Don’t answer,” he whisper-shouts over his shoulder as he goes, “she can smell fear!”

\--

“Darling, I’ve scheduled the photoshoot for Christmas Eve morning,” his Memaw says when he walks into the kitchen that evening. “There will be the six adults, the six Pala- what’s the word? Palashins?”

“Paladins,” Shiro corrects gently, dutifully ignoring his mother pulling faces behind her mother-in-law’s head. 

“Yes, the six Paladins, Victoria and Mark and Rochelle, and then us and your mothers, of course.” Memaw beams. “I brought Christmas sweaters for everyone.”

“Kosmo,” Shiro hears Keith shout, and it’s the only warning he gets before Keith bursts into the kitchen, wild-eyed and heaving. “Jesus  _ fuck _ , he’s gone and warped the  _ tree _ away.”

On cue, Memaw starts a sneezing fit, and Keith runs off, ostensibly chasing down Kosmo and, Shiro hopes, the tree. Shiro opens the fridge. If he knows his mother, and he’s pretty sure her pink cheeks and illicit rude gestures mean that he does, there’s some spiked eggnog in this fridge somewhere. 

“Shiro,” his grandfather guffaws from the living room, his voice carrying to the entire main floor even as his grandmother rips into another sneezing fit. “You can’t marry that boy! Your Memaw’s allergic to him!”

Shiro can hear him laughing, can hear Coran and Kolivan joining in. There it is, he thinks, wrapping his hand around a large pitcher near the back. Bliss.

\--

_ 1 day till Christmas _

“Oh god,” Shiro says when he steps into the living room at 10:00 am on the morning of Christmas Eve. “You all found the eggnog. How was there even enough of it to make you all look this terrible?”

He takes in the sight in front of him: two elder Holts, equally green around the gills and stuffed into matching red sweaters with reindeer. Krolia and Kolivan have the specific kind of stoic face on that means that they could still kill you with severe prejudice if they  _ needed _ to, but it really seems like a lot of trouble, and they’d much prefer to keep their heads perfectly still if at all possible. Iverson is actually quietly yakking into a bucket outside the doorway. 

“Guess what, Shiro?” Coran pipes up, his cheerful red sweater patterned with a bright white snowman across the front jerking as he gestures. “I read up on things to add to eggnog, and since it seems like various types of intoxicants are traditional, I spiked it all with nunvill!”

\--

“Hey,” Keith whispers, climbing over the back of the couch to snuggle up next to Shiro. He has two cups of hot chocolate in his hands and is still wearing his Christmas-tree sweater with the lights that really glow. Shiro can’t help but smile at him.

“Hey,” he says, and takes his hot chocolate. “Here. Take a look.”

Shiro hands a framed 8x10” print to Keith, and watches as Keith’s eyes go wide.

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Keith says, and begins to laugh helplessly, staring down at the photo. “What even  _ is _ this?”

“The best photo from the shoot this morning,” Shiro answers, and snickers softly as Keith examines it at length.

“ _ No _ ,” Keith whispers, his eyes visibly watering with mirth. “This is the  _ best _ ? But… but-” he points. “Iverson is literally in the process of throwing up in the back row. _God_. Matt and Pidge are wearing the wrong glasses, Lance’s eyes are crossed.” He strokes the photo reverently. “Kolivan looks like he either just murdered someone or just threw up or both. Allura’s sweater’s inside out. And those  _ stockings _ in the background...”

Shiro nods. “And Kosmo is still wearing the antlers Coran shoved on his head, but he looks like he’s seconds from warping the hell out of dodge.”

Keith is laughing silently, clutching at his sides. “And the tree,” he gasps out, “oh, god, the  _ tree _ !”

“Yep.” Shiro beams. ”It was taken just as Lance tipped over the tree.”

Keith shakes with hilarity beside him, and Shiro wraps an arm around him, sipping his hot chocolate and watching as the colored light from the tree plays across Keith’s face. He glances at the photo in Keith’s lap and smiles. They’re all there, in all their manifold glories- a whole family, such as it is, big and confusing and loud and all up in everybody’s business.

“Do it all again next year?” he asks, pressing his cheek against Keith’s hair.

Keith turns to him and smiles. “Yeah,” he breathes, then kisses him soft and sweet.   
  
  
  



End file.
